Ways To End My Suffering
by weirdiam
Summary: On days like these when there is nothing to research. I have hit dead ends on how to fight the darkness. No cases to look over, no hunts. Just me and Dean, my mind drifts. Sick!Sam. Caring!Dean.
1. Sick Sammy is sick

Hello people! This story took me a while to write and I only have a single chapter completed as of now. Which means I need suggestions to get rid of the writer's block.

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Thanksgiving is primarily celebrated in America. It is practiced relentlessly every year but people aren't really thankful anymore, they gather with families just because it is a national holiday. No matter the religion, thanksgiving is always a big deal, not because people feel the need to thank the higher power for blessing them, but because it gives them a reason to have big feasts and eat more food than they can ever stomach.

I once saw a native American talk about how it is the glorification of them losing their land to settlers, and how life for them has never been easy because of the cruelties they had to face by the hands of settlers as they took over. It truly is sad to think about, if I was ever robbed of my house and made to live like a lesser person in my own home I would cry bloody murder and try to take back what is mine. The natives are the saints in our community, it is because of their patience and incredible tolerance that we are not at war.

Thanksgiving is a big deal all over America, from Alaska to Florida and from Washington to Maine there is not a single state that is not in uproar for this holiday. It was cemented as a holiday by Abraham Lincoln in 1863, it is celebrated on the 4th Thursday of November each year.

It has always been seen as a glorious day paired with big meals. When I was a naive kid with no knowledge of the suffering that was also bought upon people day in day out, still. I always wanted to have a meal with my family, to talk and to be normal just for a day. My yearning bought me nothing but sharp reprimands and shame. I heard the usual 'You are a Winchester, so suck it up and stop being childish we have a hunt to finish, people are dying Sam! Can you be any more selfish.'

It hurt so bad back then, dad calling me selfish and looking at me like I was the reason he drank. The look in his eyes stuck with me, even now, I sometimes see him in my dreams. He is always glaring at me, telling me how bad a son I was, how much of a burden it was for him to carry me around like a noose around his neck strangling him slowly but surely. The literal bane of his existence. I was the cause of his death too. I know that. _I do_.

While I have given up on being bitter, I have made peace with the choices my dad made. It was for our own good, dad just wanted us to survive, he wanted us to know how to protect ourselves. He accomplished his mission, raised two soldiers, who try as they might could never get rid of that instinct to follow orders, it is so ingrained, it is practically second nature.

I have died before, I have felt the level of pain that is enough to drive the very life out of your body. I have been tortured in ways that are beyond the imagination of humans. Humans are fragile, so easily breakable, but they are also strong, so strong that they were given free will. They were allowed to make decisions for themselves while angels were made to follow orders, were slaves to the will of God.

Just like angels, me and Dean were forced to follow orders, day in day out, our free will was nothing. When I rebelled and tried to break free, I was banished by my own father, I never wanted that. Never. It is exactly what happened to Castiel, he rebelled and he was banished from his own home. He was stranded just like I was. I have felt that same pain that Castiel suffers. At least he still has a father, absentee or not, at least there is hope that one day God will come out of hiding and take him back. I have nothing, no satisfaction, no peace, my father died thinking that I hated him. I have no hope. _None_.

I have felt responsible for his death for all these years, I was the driver, I should've - _I should've_ \- seen that truck. Maybe if I had, dad would still be alive and I could still have a chance at finding my peace. I know for a fact that he never forgave me for going to college, I mean I am the traitor, chose my selfish wants over family. Now though, I am a soldier and I have found my happiness in Dean and the hunt. It is my life now. Dean is the only thing left, he is the only thing I can cling to, to find comfort and reasons to live. If he dies, I won't survive either.

But if dad were to come back I think (I hope to God) he would be more receptive to why I did what I did, and maybe - maybe, he would even forgive me. Maybe he would tell me I made him proud. I survived, that is what he wanted, he must be proud. _He must be_.

I read a book titled 'the sea' years ago and a quote stuck with me "We carry the dead with us only until we die too, and then it is we who are borne along for a little while, and then our bearers in their turn drop, and so on into the unimaginable generations." I ponder sometimes what motivated the author to write the book with such deep insight and such accurately portrayed emotions over death, loss and grief. It makes me think about dad and how I carry the burden of his death, but it also makes me realize while I have been bought back to life quite a few times there will come a day when I won't return. Will that release me of the burden of guilt, or will it haunt me in the afterlife too.

You would think I had plenty of time to be guilty when I was in the cage or even in heaven. But the thing is being relentlessly tortured or being thrown into heaven with an angel chasing you, doesn't give you much of a thinking room, let alone enough time to feel guilty.

While I don't give two shits about my life, I don't care how I die or when. It is going to happen sooner or later, it is better to be ready for it. I am not suicidal but I am always ready for death. Because no matter how badass a hunter you are, your time comes and when it does you have no choice but to go. John Winchester is a dead proof of it. Pun intended.

Dean won't be happy if he ever found out about my ready-to-die-whenever 'sentiment'. Which is why I keep my thoughts to myself, it is safe here. I hope it is safe here.. I found out a while back that I was possessed by Ezekiel without my consent. I thought things that I would never have shared with anyone. Ever. And Dean - _DEAN_ \- my brother, let me be violated, raped of the only thing I had control over, my thoughts, my body. Sometimes I feel dirty, used. I didn't even know and something shared my body, heard my thoughts. It was inside me. Inside me. Something I never wanted, happened. I was violated. I lost control. I killed Kevin with my own two hands. These hands. I - I am incredibly burdened. He was a friend, one of the only friends I had left. And my own hands killed him. It might have been Ezekiel's grace that smote him but it-it happened through my hands. Mine. I didn't even know. I didn't. But _KEVIN_ died. He is dead. _Dead_. I - I could've saved him. I should've. But I couldn't. Right!? _Right?_

Dean let it all happen to keep me alive. He said he'd do it again. He would too. I am scared sometimes, I would rather die than get violated like that again. But Dean, he doesn't understand, he doesn't know what it's like to be possessed and controlled and to scream so loud in your head and to not be heard. To cry loud and long and just suffer with no end in sight. To see yourself kill people, end them - like a robot, a servant to someone else's will. It is soul crushing, I have been to the cage, I know exactly how it feels to have your soul crushed.

I am a selfish bastard. I know. But I would never let it happen to Dean, he deserves better. I love him so much, I would do anything for him, anything. If he wanted me to let him go, I would do that for him. I might shoot myself in the head right after but I would let him go. He has never been possessed and I am thankful, so thankful, I could cry forever. It is the worst violation known to this universe. It is rape. It is something that leaves a mark on your soul. It tarnishes you deep inside, irreparably.

It is thanksgiving today. Dean is in the kitchen, I can hear him cursing from the library. He made me swear not to enter the kitchen today, he says he has plans. His absence in the library resonates even while I can hear him working in the kitchen. He is here but not right here. There is a difference. I miss him sometimes, so much - it hurts, even though he is always close these days.

On days like these when there is nothing to research. I have hit dead ends on how to fight the darkness. No cases to look over, no hunts. Just me and Dean, Dean busy with something or other. My mind drifts. It thinks about everything and nothing. I am happy. I am. That doesn't mean my mind doesn't lead me to dark places, events long past but never forgotten.

I open my eyes and jerk as I hear glass shattering, followed by Dean cursing "SON OF A BITCH, YOU PIECE OF SHIT! WHO TOLD YOU TO FALL OVER!" I chuckle because it is just like Dean to curse at or talk to inanimate objects. "Dean," I call out, loud enough for him to hear but not loud enough to hurt my throat. I hear more angry mumbles but no reply. "Dean!" I call louder this time.

"COMING!" Dean yells and runs all the way to the library. Looking cranky but alright. I sigh, not hurt then.

Dean has a washcloth in his hand and looks almost angry, if I didn't know him I would be scared of the look he is wearing on his face. But I do know him and I also know it is not anger but worry on his face.

"Are you okay?" His voice is calm, controlled. His face though is pinched and the wrinkles around his eyes are visible from where I am sitting on a chair with my head on the table. "Yeah, yeah. Fine" I try to reassure but my voice is hoarse and weak. My throat raw and achy.

Dean looks positively skeptical and keeps on staring, I sigh, might as well tell him the truth. "I hurt everywhere, my nose is blocked, my eyes keep watering, I am tired."

He walks over to me palms my face, and I jerk back, his hands are frigid. "Dean! Your hands are freezing." He snorts "It's not my hands princess, you are burning up."

"Am not."  
"Are too."  
"Not."  
"Shut up, Sam."

I open my mouth to argue but instead start coughing, it hurts. My lungs feel like they are on fire. It is not a pleasant feeling. I can't breathe. _I can't_. "De-" my miserable try at his name is cut off by more coughing which would be fine if it weren't so painful. And OH GOD! I can't breathe.

Things go hazy for a minute and when I blink my eyes open again I realize I am on the floor with my back against Dean's chest, his hands are on my face and chest holding me upright. I realize I can breathe again. It is weird sitting here on the floor but Dean is warm so I can just sit, and Dean can be warm. Nice and warm. If the floor was made of cotton it would've been more comfortable, a blanket would help too.. maybe some apple juice. Yeah.. apple juice..

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I hope you liked it, if you did, kindly leave me a review. Thanks for reading. Hope you have a wonderful day. BYEE :D


	2. Oh Brother, The Devil Haunts Me Still

Hi! Back with another chapter. I know it is confusing in places, it is intentional. You are in Sam's brain while he is sick. So holding on to thoughts in a chore he is not yet ready for.

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Tomatoes were never really my friend, I mean they make things taste better, but peeling their skin is like.. Lucifer used to peel my skin off of my bones, layer by layer, tomatoes remind me of my time.. There was this book I once started reading, I don't… There is always a big bad out there no matter how long and how hard we fight, a villain capable of ending the world comes along to destroy the peace the heroes worked so hard to bring about, shattering the fragile illusion of calm.. I once sat on a horse for a ride and then I looked at the man who was walking the horse, he had black eyes, I had this..

I feel myself yawn, jerking slightly as I hear water running nearby. My thoughts flit away like a gentle summer breeze, leaving behind a bitter, coppery aftertaste in my mouth, like the flavor of my bloody flesh. I jerk again, this time violently as I feel something cold press over my eyes. I am back with Lucifer, he is going to.. going to.. oh God. I can't.. _I can't_. Dean told me I was home, I should be with Dean. He can – he can help, he will get me away and.. and I-

"Sammy, stop."  
"NO!"  
"Sa-"

I thrash suddenly as I feel cold, _freezing_ , hands grab hold of me, holding me down. I need to get away, to Dean. He can, he will, make it better. Dean said..

"SAM!"

I stop moving because he will hurt me worse if I don't listen. He is cruel, _so cruel_. He ripped my lungs out once while he sang 'hey Jude' to me, just like Dean, the same shaky, gruff voice, the same tone, the same _everything_.

"Take a breath. Come on, little brother."

As soon as I hear him say it, I realize I am not breathing, my chest is on fire, burning and clogged with accelerant. He probably filled my chest with it himself and now he wants me to take in oxygen to get it to burn faster. To blaze my insides, to leave me with ashes inside me while I char just as his vessel did while he awaited my game changing 'yes'. He is a Satan after all, can't let a mere human _boy_ corrode his image.

As if hearing my thoughts, he punches me in the back _hard_ , I gasp, and suddenly I am breathing, there is air. Oh God, OH GOD! It hurts, I try to stop breathing again, but he hits me again, harder than before and I breathe again. My lungs have shrapnel stuck in them, they cry out at the torture, but I know if I stop he will hurt me, he sounds like Dean. I don't want to - I can't - go through that just yet, so I breathe through the fire and the shrapnel in my chest to save myself by killing myself. A short reprieve before agony becomes my only ally again, just for a while, I want oblivion.

"Open your eyes, Sammy." The voice is soft, gentle, soothing and it sounds just like Dean. I struggle to open my eyes, I try, but they refuse to budge. My lungs are still on fire and they _hurt_ , but I still try to open my eyes because if I haven't died yet. It means I am not hurt enough to need that short reprieve. Maybe, just maybe I am really with Dean and these are just phantom pains of remembrance, however silly it is of me to think that.. I can't let go of hope. Not now, not ever. Those same cold hands shake my shoulders again, gently. I sigh because I can't open my eyes, if it really is Lucifer, he could just rip my eyelids off. But that is not happening. I only feel the soft nudging every few seconds, which is truly unnerving.

Maybe Lucifer is trying to put me at ease, make me think I am safe and sound, only to rip it away once I truly start to believe it. He has done it a million times, he never gets tired of it, laughs like it is the funniest thing to watch in existence, every damn time. I reckon it is delightful for the devil to watch my misery after all, I am the reason for his downfall. I bought the devil to his knees and now he turns me into the dust on his feet only to bring me back and repeat the process.

I chuckle suddenly because no matter what he does to me he can't do jack squat to the world he wanted to end. He is just as stuck as I am, maybe not nearly as tortured, but hey, you learn to count small mercies when they are all that is offered to you.

"Sam, you are scaring me here man. Open your eyes, talk to me, do something.. please.." The voice is pleading now, that is certainly new because no matter what Lucifer never uses the words 'please' or 'sorry' ever. "Hey.." I whisper, hoping beyond hope it is still Dean who answers. "Hey yourself, scared the shit outta me. For a moment there-"

"I am fin-"

"Oh yeah, you are freakin' fine!" I finally find the strength to open my eyes and all I see is darkness. I panic all over again, until a cold hand lands on my shoulder and something is picked up from over my eyes. "Try again, go slow," this time I open my eyes to see a blurry world of white and red? And a big blob with huge green eyes literally hovering over me.

"Ahh!"

My yell is nothing more than a little whisper of air, but it starts me coughing. The fire in my lungs that had died down without me noticing, goes up about ten notches and stays there. I cough and cough till I feel like I am about to die. That is until someone ( _Dean_ ) pulls me up and props me against the headboard of a bed. I start to cough less and breathe more, being upright is the key! That same someone wipes my face with their thumbs and that is when I come to the embarrassing conclusion that I am crying. I can't stop though, the tears seem to have a mind of their own falling out my eyes at serious speed, basically ignoring my brain's command to STOP! I hiccup and finally my eyes open fully and I can see semi-clearly and there he is, Dean. He looks so worried, I feel guilty for being the reason to put that look on his face. I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out. Just a pathetic cough, nothing more. I sigh, because wow! This is totally the time for my vocal cords to stop working.

He chuckles suddenly and looks relieved, happy, excited and content all at the same time. I smile back at him because obviously I am beyond words, even if I weren't, there is no fucking way I could've spoken anyway. "Man, Sammy-" He doesn't say much more than that just pulls me in a tight hug. The hug makes me feel like I am suffocating - hello! Sick lungs anyone – but I return it with fervor because I am not down there, I am home with Dean. Maybe a little sick – okay, a lot sick – but safe and sound and right where I belong.

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I hope you liked this chapter, if you did leave me review. Let me know if I should continue or give up. BYEE.


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